


Inbetween

by Snicole25



Category: One Piece
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Reincarnation, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-26 01:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snicole25/pseuds/Snicole25
Summary: It's a common story. She lived, she loved, she died.It's a uncommon ending. She woke up.Everything else? Well, that's up to you.It's the choose your own adventure story that is very much liable to change. Pretty much everything from the fandoms to the characters to the pairings is going to change. Don't be surprised when new tags get added or taken away, just tune in to the adventure and enjoy the ride.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Difficult Choices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923598) by [kimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimpossible/pseuds/kimpossible). 



_**A/N: Alright, hi everyone! It’s been a loooong time since I’ve written anything, so be patient with me please. I’m an adult with a full time job, full time fiancé, and part time social life. Updating might be infrequent, but I’ll try my best to not leave it off too long. Anyway, here’s how this is going to work. I absolutely love the whole ‘choose your own adventure’ stories. So with this one I’m going to ask questions at the end of each chapter, you’ll vote in the polls attached to the questions, and whichever choice wins I’ll make part of the story. The chapter’s will be short at first but don’t worry, they’ll get longer the more we decide on. So with that, let’s see how this turns out, shall we?** _

The day she died goes something like this:

There is a room and it's reflection, coexisting like two sides of the same coin. One side is reality: a peaceful corpse tucked into blankets under the peeling sill of an open window. The other is surreality; the invisible spectrum on which glowing threads of energy twine from its shell and into the air above. The new soul shudders with panic, then shoots back through its own lifetime. The memories start recent- They _watch 'Hell's Kitchen' on a laptop  she calls 'Mr. Shocky' and laugh together at the personified snark that is Gordon Ramsey-_ , and then its faster and faster and years are flying by. - _She hums and uses her fingers to paint long strokes of color through the cat's fluffy white fur and-_ The soul goes and goes until it's nothing but a current of wild energy and movement, - _A woman rocks her against one hip with a bowl and a spatula at the other. She is her sunshine-_

She is a ball of sporadic memories and emotions flashing through an entire lifetime of experiences. And then the tape runs out and there is nothing.

Nothing but the room she died in and the man walking in on her body.

_Patrick._

Artist chic _Patrick_ , with his ruffled paint speckled clothes and picked apart Danish. The pastry gets discarded quickly of course, when he screams, cries, and  _begs,_  but the limp hair of a dead girl does nothing but flop side to side. _"_ No you can’t! Please- NO NO NO NO! Please, don’t leave- _Please I NEED YOU!"_

Something  _pulls_ at her then, and she knows without knowing that she _doesn't have to be here_. That there's the taste of something _more_ on her tongue and that all she needs to do is _lean in and say yes_.

_"911- What's your emergency?"_

"H-hello? Please help me, s-sh-she's not moving! I-"

But she. . . _can't_ , can she? No, that's not right either.  _She won't._

_She won't because he needs her._

The construct of the room _shatters._ She scrambles, holding on to shards of sunlight and drying canvases. _To the cracked fragments of a man who only wanted to save her_. She clings and clings, but it's pointless because she falls anyway. _Fall, Falling, Fallen_ . . . right on into the fever-dream of an acid strung Van Gogh. Streams of segmented energy swirl around her, _through_ her, and the millions of colors swirl into dreams and flashes of lives. Someone is fishing with two smiling children, further on a girl chases a ball and trips onto hard concrete, further still and a woman in white kisses another woman in white and _she's never been so happy_.

She recognizes some of them; Her upstairs neighbor Mr. Dargio . . Francis and Lilly from the _Gilly's_ on the Corner . . . Little Ellie Hashden with her scruffed up Barbie Dream Bike . . .

And then they're gone because she's being yanked around like a cane from an old timey cartoon. At first there's panic, _-she watches a man walk away as a woman cries and her son screams. “Dad, please! I can be better! DON'T LEAVE ME-“-_ Then surprise, – _A child gasps as her brother pops out from behind her with a mad cackle and the biggest grin-_ Then just plain confusion. _–twenty teenagers stare blankly as a man in a bowtie taps impatiently on a black board with line after line of scribbled equations. Why do they need to know this, it’s not-_

It feels like running, but it’s not because she doesn’t have legs and _doesn't want to go._ The strange scenes and streams of colors continue anyway. She's a swimmer in a riptide and there's no fighting the current. After the first few, a fragmented Patrick still forms in the distance and _relief_   jolts down her spine. And then she is spiraling into another moment of another memory – _a man sits on a crisp bed in an uncomfortably breezy gown but he doesn’t care because the doctor is showing him an X-ray and everyone’s smiling. Oh thank god it’s over-_

When she can breathe again, the streams no longer show anyone she can name and Patrick is gone.

_Alone._

She jumps and jumps, memory to memory, emotion to emotion until she is sure she has experienced every moment through the eyes of a million lives. Reality - _Surreality? Dream Space? The Imbetween?-_  shifts around her as she emerges from one moment only to fall into the next. It’s so slight at first, -a barely there shift of language in one memory, the addition of a strange flying pet in the next- that she doesn’t even register the change. But the differences don’t stay small – _A boy reaches out to the nose of a large black reptile and he’s so scared but he does it anyway because the animal’s not a monster and maybe they were wrong-_ and eventually she realizes that she doesn’t even know what world she’s seeing anymore. – _A girl follows a string of glowing orbs into a forest. She’s not scared, this is how she’ll change her fate-_

These are not the world she knows.

There are lights here, millions of pinpricks fading in and out like a 360 all immersive painting of the universe. They are stationary constants forever twinkling behind the vibrant ribbons of emotions she travels on. Never hers to touch and avoided simply for the fact that they weren’t _her, of course_ she'd float closer eventually. It's difficult, to fight the pull of her own feelings and  _feel nothing,_ but it's certainly not impossible. There is time to practice and perfect,  _to close her mind to everything that remains meaningful_ and to _get it right_. 

The lights don’t lead home.

Or . . . no, that's not right either. The  _souls_  are pulsing _lifeforces_ , personified here as millions of intertwining strands twisting and writhing from fade in to fade out. They do go somewhere, do connect to something,  _do have a shell that's not here_ , but they are not doorways.When she brushes her hand – she doesn’t have hands, she has extensions of herself.- across them, she sees snippets of the lives they lead to. They're not memories, they're seconds of a movie started half way through. Most of them toss her out with a wave of energy, but not all. The fading ones are weaker, the new ones don’t even rebuff her at all.

Then she sees it, a light that is fading both in and out at the same time. A life that is dying as it is created and that will never live any of the moments she has seen here. She cradles it as it fades, listens to tiny breathy gasps and a woman crying in a language she doesn’t know. It’s so clear, so beautiful and sad, and that alone nearly throws her through the memories. But it doesn't because she _knows them_ and she will  _fight for them._  They are amazing and they are strong and they are frail.

She can _help_.

So she does. 

Just like that, a baby cries.

**_A/N: Time for the Questions, everyone! I’m going to try and link the questions to a poll if I can. You should be able to get to them by clicking on the underlined questions. If you can’t connect to them, just vote in the comments._ **

  1. Alright Everyone, our main character is going to get reborn in a different universe. Which universe should she be in?  

    1. One Piece
    2. Avatar the Last Airbender
    3. Harry Potter
    4. Dragon Age
    5. Naruto
  2. They are going to be reborn as a baby. Boy or Girl? 
    1. Boy
    2. Girl
  3. Should they be related to a main character?  

    1. Yes, a major charactor
    2. Yes, a minor character
    3. No
  4. Siblings?  

    1. No, they’re an only child
    2. Yes, they have one sibling
    3. Yes, they have too many siblings to count
  5. What are their parents like?  

    1. They have a Mom and Dad
    2. They have Same Sex Parents
    3. They have a Single Parent
    4. They are an Orphan
  6. What’s their childhood like?  

    1. Happy childhood
    2. Traumatic Childhood
    3. Tough childhood (both happy and traumatic moments)
  7. Lastly, do they remember their past life?  

    1. Yes, they remember it all from Birth
    2. Yes, they gradually remember it all throughout their childhood
    3. Yes, they suddenly remember it later on
    4. No, they never remember



Bonus: What should their new name be? Let me know in the comments. Please try to suggest one for each universe option, after we choose that I’ll set up another poll with the best names.

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Hi again everybody! Wow, I’m updating right at the one week mark! I’m surprising myself today. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep it up, right? Anyway, so I just wanted to say thanks to_ ** _Evensoulsliveforever **and my wonderful sister** Zemmiphobia **for being my first ever commenters. I really appreciate any and all comments that I can get, since this is a story that’s as much by you guys as it is by me. So without further ado, here are the results of the polls from last chapter! Many thanks to anyone who voted!**_

**Poll Results:**

  1. Alright everyone, our main character is going to get reborn in a different universe. Which universe should she be in?
    1. **One Piece (Winner: 38%)**
    2. Avatar the Last Airbender (25%)
    3. Harry Potter (13%)
    4. Dragon Age (13%)
    5. Naruto (13%)
  2. They are going to be reborn as a baby. Boy or Girl?


  1. **Girl (Winner: 67%)**
  2.           Boy (33%)


  1. Should they be related to a main character?
    1. Yes, a major character (33%)
    2. Yes, a minor character (17%)
    3. **No (Winner: 50%)**
  2. Siblings?
    1. No, they’re an only child (29%)
    2. **Yes, they have one sibling (Winner: 43%)**
    3. Yes, they have too many siblings to count (29%)
  3. What are their parents like?
    1. **They have a Mom and Dad (Winner: 43%)**
    2. They have Same Sex Parents (14%)
    3. They have a Single Parent (29%)
    4. They are an Orphan (14%)
  4. What’s their childhood like?
    1. Happy childhood (0%)
    2. Traumatic Childhood (17%)
    3. **Tough childhood (both happy and traumatic moments) (Winner: 83%)**
  5. Lastly, do they remember their past life?
    1. Yes, they remember it all from Birth (0%)
    2. **Yes, they gradually remember it all throughout their childhood (Winner: 63%)**
    3. Yes, they suddenly remember it later on (33%)
    4. No, they never remember (0%)



_ Chapter 1: _

From the very beginning, I know that I’m not the same.

The world around me starts out as colors with no definition, no shades, and no depth. _And yet_ _I know there should be_. There are sounds, but they’re as muffled and unclear as hearing the takeoff of a 747 from the bottom of an Olympic grade pool. _I understand what those things are. I can feel the rumble of engines, taste the chemical tang of chlorine._ The shapes that exist above me coo long exaggerated syllables and ferry me between locations. They respond to my cries, change my waste, and celebrate when I do actions that feel both simple and momentous at the same time. I grasp at their hands and rollover, learn to sit up and crawl. I walk and remember what it feels to _run_. They are my cheerleaders.

_They are my people._

_It would be very amusing to see them in short skirts and colorful pompoms._

Sometimes it’s as if my life moves around me in jumps and starts, sailing smoothly through one moment and then catching on the next. Running is instinct. _I can feel the wind in my hair and the footsteps in my bones from the moment I’m lead through my first step_. Language is impossible. _The words my people speak might as well be the crying of the seagulls or the crack of thunder on a stormy day. There are no syllables that I recognize, no patterns to the pitches and breaks that match my thoughts._ The people see that I would rather point than speak, even when they cheer and repeat and repeat again. I try to babble at them, to laugh and cry and yell, but the words they want from me come slowly.

They worry.

The woman person – _Mommy, mom, mama, mother. I know these words and so I call her them in my head. Not aloud, because it is not her word and she will not know it, but she is ‘Mommy to me’.-_ takes me into a town of oddly shaped buildings and winding pathways of purplish sand. She points at the shops - _A bakery with crackled crust bread in paper sleeves, a clothing store with loud logos and lots of customers, a restaurant that carries the sounds of a lively band and laughter-,_ and names them with a gapped tooth grin. When we’re stopped by the other patrons and pedestrians– _and we are because I’m small and easily placated with sweets-_ I’m pushed to the forefront and coached through the pitfalls of social introduction.

At four, I say my first ever word. It’s “Hi” and we celebrate by buying flakey pastries and playing in the waves with jam still on our fingers.

The man person – _Daddy, dad, dada, papa, father_ \- pulls me aside on the slower days, when Mama’s not up to shopping and needs long naps. We lie side by side in our shady courtyard and watch the slow swirling of shapes in the sky. He brings a book sometimes, and the shapes flow instead into the mermaids and dragons fighting and swimming along the deep tenor of his voice.

Slowly, my life fills. I gain memories and experiences and laughter. My days are happy. _I remember memories and experiences that are not this one. My nights are fitful because my dreams bombard me with too much, too fast and ohgodpatrick-_

It’s a good childhood.

_It’s not my first._

Mama’s stomach swells until she needs loose clothing and frequent restroom breaks. She stops often, takes naps frequently, and once dipped her onigiri right into my ice-cream on a particularly hot summer day.  Dad tends to her with the devotion of a mortal to a goddess, and runs from one shop to the next in his efforts to please her. He holds her hair when she vomits and rubs her feet when she’s comatose on the couch. When her belly jumps and shudders, he pulls my hand over and we both wonder at the sensations pressing against my fingers.

They don’t tell me what’s happening.

_I was a woman once._

They don’t have to.

At night, when I’ve been tucked away into bed and they’ve relocated to the kitchen, they talk in quietly hushed voices and wonder about the future. I’m not supposed to listen – _Doorknobs aren’t obstacles when they’ve been barely a thought. The dark isn’t a barrier when you don’t believe in monsters-_ but there comes a night where I sneak to the edge of the hallway anyway.

“She was a miracle, Shima! Coming too early should have been a death sentence, nothing was even fully formed! The doctor’s said-“

“That she shouldn’t have survived. But I’m further along than I was then. Maybe . . . maybe the danger has passed. Maybe we should tell-“

“No.”

“Hirosho . . .”

“ _No,_ Shima! _What if miracles don’t happen twice?!_ ”

 _The world is a compilation of energy and memories and light._ _I see it, a light that is fading both in and out at the same time. A life that is dying as it is created and that will never live any of the moments I have seen here. I cradle it as it fades, listen to tiny breathy gasps and a woman crying in a language I don’t know. It’s so clear, so beautiful and sad. I know them, they are amazing and they are strong and frail and . . . And . . ._

Turning, I run to dive back into my safety of blankets even as my parent’s argument continues with soft ferocity one room over. No, there are no monsters in the darkness.

I still don’t sleep that night.

Weeks later, my mother is talking to a friendly vendor when her eyes roll up and her body crashes down. There are screams and panic, concern and calls for help. She seizes on the pretty cobbled stones of the square and, amidst the chaos, I am the only one who is silent.

I’m screaming and I’m panicking, but it’s in my head because I’m frozen.

_Ohgodohgodohgodnonononononothernotherohgodpleaseno!_

Strong arms scoop me up as Dad swoops in like a beast from hell. He throws me on to his back and there’s barely a minute to cling before he’s grabbed her and we’re running. Mama’s still shaking when he bursts through the double doors of a place that’s too tidy and too white. _What? No!!_ _She’s having a seizure. He shouldn’t move her; she could bite out her tongue!_ Men and woman in white uniforms stare at the entrance, but then they descend and I find myself deposited on an uncomfortable chair in a sea of other, equally uncomfortable chairs.

Dad disappears down the hallway with the uniforms. One of them breaks off to sit next to me, but I don’t acknowledge him. I’m hardly even breathing because my thoughts have simply not caught up to me. I might as well have been alone.

_Nonononono-_

The light filtering through the large windows of this place lowers slowly and the people around me go with it. Soon it’s only the Uniform and me, waiting endlessly as the clock above ticks minute by minute away. The Uniform doesn’t wait silently. He taps his fingers against the hard wooden armrest of his chair, gets up to pace circles around the room, and goes to fetch me water three separate times. When I ignore them all, he downs the last glass and wrings his hands to the music of the clock.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

**_A/N: Alright! Chapter one is DONE! This was actually weirdly difficult to get started. I just had no idea to write this character. I got it done though and I really hope everyone likes how it turned out. I’m actually really proud of this one lol. Anyway, now it’s questions time! Remember, if you want to vote in the poll, you have to click on the underlined title of ALL the questions, not just the first one. One title will not connect you to all of them, just saying. Also, this poll is going to be a doozy when it comes to questions, since I’m really trying to flush out her character here._ **

  1. So our main character is a girl. What’s her name?  

    1. Zinnia
    2. Mira
    3. Hoshiko
    4. Rena
  2. As you voted for last chapter, she’s about to get a new sibling. Boy or Girl?  

    1. Boy
    2. Girl
  3. Shima, our character’s mother, is in a lot of trouble right now. Does she survive this?  

    1. Yes, but she’ll never be the same
    2. Yes, but she’s in a coma
    3. Yes, she’s fine
    4. No
  4. What species is our main character?  

    1. Human
    2. Fishfolk
  5. What does her hair look like? (Colorful means non-typical hair color)  

    1. Wild and colorful
    2. Curly and colorful
    3. Straight and colorful
    4. Wild and natural color
    5. Curly and natural color
    6. Straight and natural color
  6. What color are her eyes?  

    1. Blue
    2. Green
    3. Purple
    4. Grey
    5. Brown
  7. What tone is her skin? (I’m keeping this one vague so that I can adapt it to either species.)  

    1. Light
    2. Medium
    3. Dark
  8. Will she be tall or short?  

    1. Tall
    2. Short
  9. What will her body type be?  

    1. Petite
    2. Stocky
    3. Curvy
    4. Average
  10. What type of child is she?  

    1. Loner
    2. Tomboy
    3. Girly
    4. Quiet
  11. What’s her biggest flaw?  

    1. She’s Blunt (Speaks first thinks later)
    2. She’s an Overthinker (Spends a lot more time in her head)
    3. She’s Rash (Acts first, thinks later)
    4. She Socially Awkward (It's hard for her to make friends)
  12. What’s her personality?  

    1. Mothering (She the protector of strays of all species taken under her wing)
    2. Charismatic (She’s very good at making friends and public speaking)
    3. Creative (She’s good with her hands and at making artistic things.)
    4. Intelligent (She’s good at math, science, and problem solving)
  13. What’s her Dad’s job?  

    1. Shipwright
    2. Cook
    3. Musician
    4. Doctor
    5. Blacksmith
  14. And Lastly, how much of One Piece has she seen?  

    1. None of it
    2. Some of it
    3. All of it




	3. Chapter 2

**_A/N: One more chapter done! Just to let everyone know, I’m going to try and keep to a two week update schedule. That way I’ll have one week to get the votes in and one to actually write the darn thing. I’ll try to update on either that week’s Monday or Tuesday. Anyway, questions time!_ **

  1. So our main character is a girl. What’s her name?


  * Zinnia (0 %)
  * **Mira (Winner: 50%)**
  * Hoshiko (38%)
  * Rena (13%)


  1. As you voted for last chapter, she’s about to get a new sibling. Boy or Girl?


  * **Girl (Winner: 57%)**
  * Boy (43%)


  1. Shima, our character’s mother, is in a lot of trouble right now. Does she survive this?


  * **Yes, but she’ll never be the same (Winner: 57%)**
  * Yes, but she’s in a coma (14%)
  * Yes, she’s fine (0%)
  * No (29%)


  1. What species is our main character?


  * **Human (Winner: 71%)**
  * Fishfolk (29%)


  1. What does her hair look like? (Colorful means non-typical hair color)


  * Wild and colorful (0%)
  * Curly and colorful (14%)
  * Straight and colorful (0%)
  * Wild and natural color (14%)
  * Curly and natural color (29%)
  * **Straight and natural color (Winner: 43%)**


  1. What color are her eyes?


  * Blue (0%)
  * Green (25%)
  * **Purple (Winner: 38%)**
  * Grey (25%)
  * Brown (13%)


  1. What tone is her skin? (I’m keeping this one vague so that I can adapt it to either species.)


  * Light (29%)
  * **Medium (Winner: 43%)**
  * Dark (29%)


  1. Will she be tall or short?


  * Tall (29%)
  * **Short (Winner: 71%)**


  1. What will her body type be?


  * Petite (29%)
  * **Stocky (Winner: 43%)**
  * Curvy (14%)
  * Average (14%)


  1. What type of child is she?


  * Tomboy (0%)
  * Girly (29%)
  * Quiet (29%)
  * **Loner (Winner: 43%)**


  1. What’s her biggest flaw?


  * **She’s Blunt (Speaks first thinks later) (Winner: 43%)**
  * She’s an Overthinker (Spends a lot more time in her head) (14%)
  * She’s Rash (Acts first, thinks later) (14%)
  * She Socially Awkward (It's hard for her to make friends) (29%)


  1. What’s her personality? 
    * Mothering (She the protector of strays of all species taken under her wing) (29%)
    * Charismatic (She’s very good at making friends and public speaking) (29%)
    * **Creative (She’s good with her hands and at making artistic things.) (Winner: 43%)**
    * Intelligent (She’s good at math, science, and problem solving) (0%)
  2. What’s her Dad’s job? 
    * Shipwright (0%)
    * Cook (18%)
    * Musician (18%)
    * Doctor (27%)
    * **Blacksmith (Winner: 36%)**
  3. And Lastly, how much of One Piece has she seen? 
    * **None of it (Winner: 43%)**
    * Some of it (29%)
    * All of it (29%)



_ Chapter 2: _

“What do you think Mira-chan?”

The soft pink bundle feels oddly heavy in my small arms, like even the smallest muscle out of place or breathe out of rhythm will cause her to fall away completely. I hold on as if I’m holding a baby made of gold and try to concentrate on Dad’s supporting hand.

 _-_ _a light that is fading both in and out at the same time. A life that is dying as it is created and-_

 _No, she’s still here. It’s not the_ _same._

“Sh-she’s-“ The first syllables catch and break and it’s _frustrating._ I want to stop there – _hours after hours of “Hi, my name is-“ into a passive reflection, of repeating the simplest of sounds until it was RIGHT. Until I dreamed in the language of my parents, my home, my Island.-_ but I don’t because it’s been years and I’ve _practiced._ I close my eyes instead. Close them against the white tiled ceiling, flickering fluorescents, and the muffled cries of four infants writhing in hard plastic basinets and an unfairly bright world. _I just close my eyes, feel the tiny heartbeat fluttering alongside mine, and breathe._

“She . . . She looks like a grumpy old man.” The little face below me scrunches up like my words are unforgivable on a soul deep level _._ “Was I ever that angry?”

Dad’s loud snort turns easily to a deep, reverberating chuckle. The vibrations rustle in the folds of my sister’s blanket.

“You were _worse_. For a month, you thought the nurses’ soul job was to make you mad. They wouldn’t have to do anything; you’d look like you ate a lemon anyway. Then you’d scream so loud, the Marines in the Capital could hear you. Shima’d-“

His eyes, _–They’re the purple basil of a cool morning and I’ve yet to get mine to smile like his do.-_ so full of animation and nostalgia and _life_ , go blank _fast_.

Mine just cut to a door. It’s too far down the hallway to even see, but I look anyway and know what lies beyond it.

_“S-sh-she . . . s-she’ll wake up soon . . . Ri-right, Dad?”_

Then there’s a wail that’d crack diamonds and suddenly there’s no baby on my lap. Dad deals with her needs like a man who’d done every action a million times over. When she is content, his large, calloused, and soot stained hands rock her tiny eyelids closed.

Barely large enough to hold her - _let alone do anything useful_ \- I wait until she’s well and truly out of it before crawling in beside her.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s alright, ya know?”

I feel more than see his head tilt down, but his gaze lands on me all the same. Like any sane eight year-old, the need to fidget is immediate.

“What’s alright, Mira-chan?”

“To be sad? I mean Rini’s got me and I’m going to be awesome at this whole _big sister_ thing, so don’t you go ‘being strong’ for us. Being sad doesn’t mean you _failed_ someone, It means . . . it means . . .” _It means mourning for someone you barely remember every night in a life you never asked for. It means hoarding each memory you’re lucky enough to get back._

 _“_ It means you _love_ them. Don-Don’t take that from Mama right now, ok?”

Then I swallow a sandpaper throat, because that was a _lot_ more than anything ever practiced in mirror time.

Moisture dusts my dark locks darker and dampens the downy fluff of the baby next to me. She sleeps through it though, so I settle in, take her tiny lead, and say nothing as the sobs of our father shakes us both. And eventually, when it’s dark enough for the other visitors to have long made way for the hovering of the nurses, it all ends in a shuddering sigh.

Lifting the sleeping bundle far above my head, Dad gently kisses her forehead and drops a heavy hand into my hair.

“So . . . Rini, huh?”

I blink, then my cheeks are suddenly a bit hotter and a bit brighter. Because out of all the things to slip out, I hadn’t realized _that_ had been one of them.

“Oh . . . it’s a b-book . . .” ‘ _Noland The Liar’ lies spine up on a checkered blue rocking chair, but it’s not the one she’s holding as we sit in it. ‘Run, run, run, Rini Rabbit. Don’t wanna make it a habit, oh Rini Rabbit’-_ “Th-that Mama re-read to me. ‘R-Rini Rabbit’. . . ”

Dad laughs.

“Then I couldn’t have thought of a better name.”

oOoOoOoOo

As Time is an entity that will forever plod on, so too did my life not stop when Rini made her way into it.

No, my life didn’t stop.

It _changed_.

The differences were of both the obvious and subtle variety. They were the wailing of broken glass at dawn and the empty chair and empty air at dusk. They were the forgotten chalkboard in my bedroom and my new walk to the neighbor’s for times-tables and ‘ _The Vineyards of Micqueot’_. They were the ruffled basinet in Dad’s office and my presence ferrying ingots and tools under the oppressive heat of a working forge.

They were the kids who whispered on the edge of hearing and the daily pilgrimages- _Rain, snow, sleet or shine-_ to the third bed of Pinella Clinic’s fourth room.

Sometimes, when Dad is buried beneath swords, pistols, parasols and a boss who seethes with each moment spent anywhere but there, I stumble under the weight of my ever growing sister – _one month to two to twenty-four-_ and go to see our mother without him.

On those days, after Rini is balanced near an unresponsive shell on starchy white sheets, I take an endless breath and launch into every exploit and adventure I can possibly fit into the span of an hour. I talk and talk until I am far past my limit and the words I’m speaking no longer sound like noise at all. Mama is the silent sounding board, the new mirror in which I practice. There is no judgment when I stutter.

_No laughter when Rini laughs and claps to the worn paperback of her namesake . . ._

_No pride when her baby says ‘Run! Run!’ and it’s her first word ever . . ._

_No disappointment when visiting ends much too fast for it to have ever truly been an Hour . . ._

We celebrate holidays and birthdays with tinny music played on the clinic’s only baby Den Den Mushi. Open presents from patients and nurses alike to the flickering of florescent lights.

Three months past my twelfth, I walk into and out of my father’s forge within a single second and still hear the ringing of a calm man’s hammer crashing a Captain’s sword clean in two. One moment more and my Dad’s iron grip all but frog marches me down the street. The voice of his boss screams after us. _“-The Hell outta here, ya here me! If you can’t let that dead woman die already, then I don’t need you or ya shitty kid! Good luck finding work ‘round here, ya bastard!”_

We stop going to the Forge after that.

A week later and I run water and snacks through the vineyards and on to the workers scattered within them, Rini forever giggling at my heels. Dad hitches a ride to Micqueot City with a newspaper circled with red and an admonishing ‘be good’ to the two children he leaves behind.

I watch him go, then take my sister to the Purple Sand Beaches. She plays in the waves. I offer drinks to the tourists and peddle shell jewelry to the women among them. When my customer is a Marine, I see their sheathed swords and imagine that I have seen it forged.

Mama wakes up to a family broken.

_“Oh . . .hello little girl . . . Has anyone  ever told you that you have the prettiest eyes?”_

She’s broken too.

And when Dad comes back in a uniform of White and Blue, I watch him run to his wife like his world is whole again. He weeps when she shatters him.

_“Why are you hugging me, Stranger-san? Have we . . . Have we met before? Are those girls yours? They’re quite sweet.”_

Then I take Rini home to pack, because the changes of my live were never going to end there.

**_A/N: Just to let everyone know, as this story evolves I will be adding and refining content to all the chapters, not just the one I’m currently writing. I already added quite a bit to the first chapter just to make it a bit clearer. Also, feel free to comment any questions you have about the story if it starts to get too confusing. I’ll try to clear any confusion up in the next chapter. That said, let’s move on to the questions!_ **

  1. [So Mira is going to meet a main character next chapter. Who is it?](https://linkto.run/p/A52NJVA4)  

    1. Shanks
    2. Smoker
    3. Coby
    4. Bartolomeo
  2. [Mira is going to get some training. What should it be in?](https://linkto.run/p/RPTMFQP6)  

    1. Hand to Hand
    2. Pistols
    3. Swords
    4. War Hammer
    5. Daggers
  3. [Will Mira get a Devil Fruit?](https://linkto.run/p/JLTPFP7U)  

    1. Yes, Logia
    2. Yes, Zoan
    3. Yes, Paramecia
    4. No
  4. [Will she ever get over her stutter?](https://linkto.run/p/SLUCCNBR)  

    1. No, but she only does it when she’s nervous
    2. No, it’s a part of who she is
    3. Yes, she grows out of it
  5. [How will Mira react to her Mama’s memory loss?](https://linkto.run/p/4Z2XIZLC)  

    1. She acts the same
    2. She avoids Mama
    3. She keeps Rini away from Mama
    4. She gets frustrated with Mama
  6. [What is Mira’s biggest pet peeve?](https://linkto.run/p/QKA5FAJT)  

    1. When someone mentions the stutter
    2. When someone insults her family
    3. When someone picks on the little guy
    4. When someone underestimates her



Bonus: In your comments, mention any characters you want to see in the story. I’ll make sure to work them in somehow!


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